Madame Carlota begins Macabéa's reading by telling her how horrible her life has been and currently is. Glória feels sort of bad about the whole thing with Olímpico, so she tries to help Macabéa a little by recommending she visit a fortuneteller. He ignores her, mistreats her, and eventually leaves her for her hot co-worker Glória. Also like a lot of teenage boyfriends, Olímpico is a thug, a criminal, and basically just a plain jerk. Like a typical teenager, she eventually meets her first and only boyfriend, Olímpico. You could say she takes pleasure in the little things: listening to the Radio Clock, going to the movies once a month, painting her nails bright red, sipping cold coffee before bed, and drinking Coca-Cola, and imagining being like Marilyn Monroe. Weirdly (at least to the narrator), she seems oblivious to how sad her life is. She works as a typist, but it looks like she might not be keeping that job for very long. She now lives with four other girls in the slums of Rio de Janeiro. Macabéa was raised by a mean-we're talking evil-stepmother mean-aunt in the Northeastern part of Brazil. So worked up, in fact, that takes him almost as much time to talk about telling it as it does to tell it. He's sophisticated, suave, and super worked up about how in the world he's going to tell this story.
She's a poor, underfed, unattractive, sickly, and inexperienced nineteen-year-old girl who works and lives in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.Īnd now meet your narrator, Rodrigo S.M. You're probably not going to want to be her friend. In her last book, she takes us close to the true mystery of life and leave us deep in Lispector territory indeed.Meet Macabéa. Lispector employs her pathetic heroine against her urbane, empty narrator - edge of despair to edge of despair - and, working them like a pair of scissors, she cuts away preconceived notions about poverty, identity, love, and the art of fiction. She doesn't seem to know how unhappy she should be.
Rodrigo recoils from her wretchedness, and yet he cannot avoid the realization that for all her outward misery, Macabéa is inwardly free. Living in the slums of Rio and eking out a poor living as a typist, Macabéa loves movies, Coca-Colas, and her rat of a boyfriend she would like to be like Marilyn Monroe, but she is ugly, underfed, sickly, and unloved.
M., this brief, strange, and haunting tale is the story of Macabéa, one of life's unfortunates. The Hour of the Star, Clarice Lispector's consummate final novel, may well be her masterpiece.
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